


Playing and Golfing at Pebble Beach

by anonymousorly



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Golf, Golf cart sex, Golfer Harry, Golfer Niall, M/M, Pebble Beach, Pebble Beach Golf Links, Solo Artist Harry, Solo Artist Niall, Sports, harry fucks niall, implied ot5, lbr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 23:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11724885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousorly/pseuds/anonymousorly
Summary: Harry's tour brings him to the city where Niall happens to be recording and proposes a golf outing. Harry bets Niall can't make par for a blowjob.OR: golfer!narry. because.





	Playing and Golfing at Pebble Beach

They haven't seen one another since Louis’ debut performance in December, zero interaction prior and after aside from random short texts, and even _this_ reunion in San Francisco (of all places) comes unplanned. Harry's tour brings him to the city where Niall happens to be recording, so he reaches out and proposes a golf outing which is eagerly accepted by his former bandmate; he glows while hanging up.

They meet the next morning at Pebble Beach, course theirs for the day and closed to the public. Harry emerges from his chauffeured black truck five minutes late, dressed in a green polo complementing bright eyes and sand slacks accentuating thin legs, and rushes to where Niall waits with high brows outside the clubhouse. Leaving his chaperone responsible to carry his golf bag to the nearby awaiting cart, he wraps long arms around Niall's red collar and ignores the gentle chides.

Musky scent flows up his nostrils and relaxes his shoulders inadvertently, a strained tingle notifying him that he's been tense for far too long and encouraging him to further unwind into the shorter but not weaker frame. Niall always makes him feel smaller in a good way, trusting the protection and judgement entirely so he can disappear from his thoughts for a while. He whispers, “‘m happy to see you.”

Niall holds tighter, nose tapping Harry's cheek. “You, too.”

Keeping one arm in place, Harry fixes the tilted Reebok snapback atop blond hair and clearly recalls the day of purchase almost three years ago: Niall wore a Detroit Lions hat that infuriated Harry, who demanded he buy a less disgusting cap. He jokingly asks, “Put your sunscreen on?”

He notices a rosy blush crossing more-tan-than-usual cheekbones with an answer, “Sure, Casper,” and forgets where he is momentarily because Niall looks angelic right now; overhang shades half of him and bright yellow highlights the other side, eyes twinkling and skin appearing to shine.

Bodies close, they take each other's presence in for a few heartbeats until Niall slowly licks his lips and Harry's gaze instantly darts down to them, intense stare making his stomach flip and head fuzzy. “Sh-Should we?”

Harry steps back and nods, shamelessly grabbing his crotch and readjusting himself. This simple action darkens Niall's flush but Harry decides not to comment on it.

The first holes are used for catching up and remarking on ocean views or play errors, genuine interest and deadpan teases exchanging fluidly between them. They discuss Louis’ mum and song fondly but rekindled romance bitterly, Liam's son warmly yet astonished at the name, Zayn cautiously and briefly, and their own news optimistically. A bystander would never guess how long they've been apart…or how many hours they’ve logged together.

By the end of the first nine, Harry zigzags recklessly across the fairway side-to-side and Niall laughs to tears holding his seat as they drive to the nearest ball. Somehow their clubs don't fly off from the fast speed and swerving turns, the only casualty a headcover of Harry’s 7-iron. The morning chill heats away through thin clouds and prepares for a hot afternoon, Harry stealing Niall's hat every so often despite wearing sunglasses.

Niall makes a bad shot on hole 12 and knows it as soon as his swing hits the tee with a disappointed yawp, watching the airborne ball curve towards the rough and line of trees. His arms drop, club smacking the grass; it's a par three. “Shit.”

Harry wrinkles his nose from the cart, hand positioned like a salute above his lenses to block the sun, as Niall picks up his tee. “On the bright side, your tee-offs have been stellar up to this point.”

Niall scoffs and replaces the 3-wood driver in his bag, falling beside Harry and sighing. “Naw, mate, I've misstepped a couple easy ones.”

“None of ‘em are easy, Nialler.” Harry starts the engine and bumps their elbows, crooked smile sincere yet amused. “It's Pebble Beach.”

They go to where Niall's ball lays (in a straight line, for once) about 15 yards to the right of Harry's. He can par this if he does it properly, his second stroke needing as much distance as it does angle and his third needing a miracle chip shot. It's a stretch but doable.

He grabs an iron and scans the route that he wants to take, measuring mentally and noting small obstacles. Harry’s leading by two and this location is against his chances of catching up, so he really needs odds and luck to be in his favor.

He lines up and shifts his feet, looking back and forth from the ball and green in order to make minor changes in his stance appropriately. A bead of sweat drips to his jaw and he inhales before the windup.

“I'll blow you if you manage to par.”

Niall snaps his head up and gapes at Harry, who's smirking and looking over his frames. He blinks. “W…Wha?”

“Or, if you bogey,” he pushes the glasses up the bridge of his nose, “I'll fuck ya like I did that one time in Greece.”

Not that it matters but, “Which time?” Niall questions, pulse loud in his ears and buzzing under his skin. There are multiple instances…and it's for memory’s sake, he tells himself.

Harry is almost happy to be asked. “Second.”

Niall's heart skips a beat, arousal spreading and throat tightening. The second time in Greece was an unnaturally hot summer, just a haze of water consumption and drenched clothes. They fucked inside a bathroom stall before a show, sticky and exhausted from the busy day but also insanely horny and desperate. Sure, the five of them messed around but Harry in Greece were dirty, special, and erotic times that Niall would never forget…all three times.

Niall considers intentionally missing, because he hasn't had a dick in him for quite awhile, but he cares more about pride and winning (plus, a blowjob would suffice) before confirming, “Bet.”

His second stroke gets him to the edge of the green somehow, but his effort is unsuccessful as his third chips the ball rolling to the left passed the flag. After the bogey putt and Harry's par, he lifts his cap and ruffles his flat hair. Over-par fuck, it is.

Harry plucks the soaked garment from Niall and puts it on his own sweaty head, sliding the temple tips of his sunglasses carefully behind Niall's ears and setting the wet pads on his red nose before the Irishman can complain. He bites his bottom lip, turned on by how sexy Niall wore his wayfarers.

He locks their clammy palms and indented fingers, guiding the short walk back to the cart. When Niall's hand goes on his lower back below his shirt, he spins around and kisses him messily, visor knocked to the side. Niall responds positively, pressing against his chest and mouth wide. They trip and tangle towards the vehicle, Harry's fists bunching red cotton hard enough to stretch the material’s shape for good.

“I…I want skin.” Niall’s breath hitches and hips rub Harry’s, their lips grazing at the words. “Wanna feel you, I miss feeling your skin.”

“We-We can't here.”

“The hell we can't,” Harry hisses and it's the only convincing Niall needs.

Harry peels Niall's shirt off and touches all over the slick pale exposed, dragging across prominent shoulder blades and dark nipple buds. Goosebumps rise underneath the traces and he's mesmerized at the muscle lines, glossy coating, heavy panting, Niall, just everything…

He repositions the slipping sunglasses insistently, then grabs Niall's wrists that yank on his polo. “No,” he commands quietly and kisses him again. “I kept it on the second time, bent you over, scratched the shit outta ya.”

Niall wants to protest, because they're outside in the open and doesn't want to be the only one shirtless, but it doesn't compare to Harry's dick up his ass if someone were walking by. It seems Harry has his mind made up, and he's not stubborn, but Niall is more interested in other matters than persuading him.

He squeezes Harry's hardening erection under damp briefs and his own twitches at the soft sigh it causes. It's obvious Harry hasn't “gotten any” recently, the urgency now and post-hug chub before tell tale signs for Niall, who hasn't either. He licks deeper inside Harry's mouth, on his tiptoes and arm squished between their torsos, as though making up for lost time and lonely nights.

Harry fumbles with Niall's belt blindly, battling the buckle without breaking the kiss. “Guh…Fuck–”

Niall slaps at large hands and easily unhooks the obstacle himself, Harry tending to his own and keeping their lips together. As humid as the air is, it still refreshes the newly uncovered lower areas and Niall’s suddenly grateful for being half nude.

Harry turns Niall by the shoulders and, after tugging down both of their bottoms around their ankles, pinches his butt as he bends over the cart seats.

He lubricates Niall's entrance with the tip of his cock, circling up and down then gliding in just barely before repeating. The late morning-early afternoon blaze thickens their lungs and drains energy quicker than normal, so he’ll take his time until the very end – much like he had in Greece.

Niall shivers visibly from his desire and the seemingly never-ending build-up, elbows and knees locked to hold him stable while his mind unravels. Once Harry pushes in all the way, a long moan crawls out Niall's throat. _Finally_ , he thinks.

Harry gulps and slowly inhales, one hand running up Niall's back and the other gripping his side. The creamy white has turned pink but it's not near a painful burnt color surprisingly, so he rocks forward more and presses his fingers harder. Niall curves his spine to what Harry considers “a beautiful arc,” stomach flat yet chest and pelvis rising to better hit his prostate.

Round nails dig into his back and keep him in place, Niall gasping, “Haz,” on the faux leather seats covered in his drool and sweat. His ass is tight and stays firm for a good while with Harry's calm thrusts, allowing them each to enjoy the sensation as he gradually widens.

Harry lightly scratches through warm sweatdrops and allows his eyes to close for a second, steadily rocking as the mewls from Niall send a buzz straight to his cock. His hair sticks on his neck, drenched from the hat that weighs heavy on his scalp.

Niall's arms are extended above his head, wrists hanging off the side of the cushion and sunglasses squishing his face. Gentle are the scratches but somewhat piercing from how the surface is sensitive and hot, his chest slippery from the motions and stimulating his nipples. He cries out when Harry curls slightly to be able to reach around and grab his neglected cock, loose hold of a rough hand tantalizing.

The noise makes Harry push harder, knees bending a little to move at a better angle and nails scraping a dark trail down the unmarked back. He sees how Niall bites both his lower lip and tan pleather, feels trembles from his legs keeping position and ass high for so long. It's unbelievably captivating and he fucks faster without realizing, grasping a hipbone tightly and consumed by all that is Niall.

Niall moans loud but short, face pressing down more as a weak attempt of silencing. His hips jerk wobbly into Harry's compressed hand, making sure his thighs maintain height for easy prostate access. He hears a throaty, “Good boy,” comes, and topples down on the cushion before he's even completely finished. Hot– Everything is hot and electrifying; semen continues spurting, his face sore and on fire, Harry keeps his curve leveled until he groans deeply and climaxes.

Harry jumps away and suddenly releases Niall, cupping to catch the mess from dripping on either of their pants. He snatches Niall's shirt off the grass and his tied-together feet nearly make him fall over, teetering while wiping himself and going to tend Niall.

“The fuck,” he whines upon noticing the makeshift towel Harry scrubs across his cock.

Harry drops the soiled polo behind his bag as Niall redresses what he can. “I'm doing you a favor– Ya need sun.”

“I _need_ a shirt, you wanker.”

Harry rolls his eyes and gives his green polo to Niall, who gets distracted by his muscular chest and fit arms for the remainder of the course. He pars only one hole but doesn't truly care, the sight of Harry shirtless wearing his snapback as he swings a club more than making up for it.


End file.
